No Good Deed
by VattaKeto
Summary: Sam wakes up in a hospital, alone. Where's Dean and Cas? What exactly did Dean do? Post season 9.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I'm back! I've been working on this story for awhile...first as a crazy idea, then finally typing it out. I hope to update every Saturday (yay for consistency). The title comes from a song called "No Good Deed" from the musical Wicked. Awesome musical, but definitely not canon :) I hope you all enjoy this! **

**Chapter One:**

Sam blinked groggily. He could make out the faint hum of hospital monitors; a sound he was only too familiar with. Sam let out a groan of frustration. His head was swimming. He experimentally opened his eyes. Sam let out a different kind of groan; one of pain. Everything hurt. What had happened? He racked his brain, but everything was still fuzzy.

From behind the curtain that covered the window, light from the rising sun crept into the sterile room. It left a yellow haze in the sterile room.

Sam looked around his room, his vision finally stabilizing a bit. The walls were a lovely shade of hospital white. A beeping monitor and an IV bag were placed next to his bed in front of the window. On the left side of his rather uncomfortable bed sat a visitors' chair and a little nightstand.

Sam frowned. On the nightstand lay a slip of paper. He reached for it, extending his right arm before realizing that the IV needle was keeping him from reaching that far. Using common sense, Sam reached out with his left arm, only to find his arm in a cast. A _pink_ cast. A pink cast _with drawings on it_. Not that Sam had anything against the color pink (it had been Jess's favorite color, but that was years ago, a lifetime ago.) but really? And who had drawn... Was that a unicorn? Yes. A unicorn had been drawn ever so carefully in purple sharpie onto his pink cast. Sam sighed, Dean was going to mock him merciless for the next year, at least. The thought made Sam stop. Where was Dean? Was he also in the hospital? Was he even alive... Sam cut his thoughts off. No. Dean was alive, somewhere. He had to be.

Sam pulled himself back to reality and reached out again for the paper on the nightstand.

It was a piece of lined paper with a ruffled edge, as if it had been pulled out of a spiral notebook. The note was folded in half. Scrawled on the outside were the initials 'SW,' slightly smudged, as if rain had fallen on them... Or tears. Sam flipped open the note with some difficulty. Smeared across the top of the paper was a faded strip of blood. Slightly more concerned, he began to read:

"Sam,

Cas is dead. It's all my fault. Your hospital stint is my fault too."

(There were a blood stain smudge the next part of the farewell letter. Sam squinted and managed to make out its contents, unshed tears hiding in his eyes)

"I'm a monster Sammy. I'll come back if I can, but if I don't just don't come looking for me.

Your brother,

Dean"

Sam reread the note no less than three times before cursing and crumpling the note in his pink-casted hand. He let his aching head fall back onto the pillow, shutting his eyes tightly as a tear fell down his stitched-up cheek.

Just what the hell has happened?

**AN: I have nothing against the color pink, except that I absolutely hate certain shades... but this is true for a lot of colors. I imagined it as a sort of Umbridge-pink :)  
>Leave a review please? I REALLY appreciate it, and it only takes a minute. You could just leave a sentence or an incomplete sentence and I'll forever be grateful :) <strong>

**See you next Saturday! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Hi everyone! Here we are with chapter 2. I would like to thank Trucklad53 for their lovely review :) Reviews are always appreciated! I wish I could update this story more often, but I really don't have that much time to write during the week. My apologizes for the long waits. You have all waited long enough so... onto the story!**

_The day before_

Sam dropped the lit match into the bowl that lay in the middle of a summoning circle. The ancient lighting system cast a creepy shadow on the room where Sam had drawn a demon's trap in which to summon Crowley. A moment later, the King of Hell popped into the blood red trap, looking vaguely amused.

"Hallo moose." Crowley looked expectantly at Sam. Sam pulled out a knife. "You know what I want Crowley. Bring back my brother or, so help me, I'll kill you here now." Crowley stuck his hands deep into the endless void that is his pant pockets and began to pace around the trap. "Dear me, someone's mother obviously never taught them manners. Tisk, tisk." Sam let out a growl and stepped towards the trapped demon, brandishing his weapon. Crowley stopped pacing and shrugged. "Sorry Sam, but, no can do. You see, I could only bring him back if he was dead and you see... Your brother is anything but dead." Crowley smiled, an expression of false innocence falling across his face.

Sam grabbed Crowley's hand, squeezing it so hard the demon flinched. Sam's face was mere inches from Crowley's. Sam voice was barely louder than a whisper, his tone jagged, as he spoke through clenched teeth. "Tell me what is going the hell on, you son of a bitch, or I _swear_ I will cut you open right now." Crowley masked his fear well; his voice just as quiet as Sam's. "Oh moose, I do love it when you get all controlling like that." Crowley pulled himself away from Sam's grip. He straightened his jacket before dusting off his shoulder pads. Then he spoke, " now Sam, you must understand: You're brother's... _Predicament_ is fairly... Unusual. N- ah!" Crowley let out an exclamation of surprise that startled Sam. "What?! What is it?" Sam walked toward the demon, again brandishing his weapon. Crowley put his hands up. "Do calm down moose. Please, you're ruining my monologue. I was going to explain exactly what happened to dear old big brother, but someone more qualified than I has just walked into the room." Crowley nodded toward the door behind Sam. The door he had left open.

Standing in the door way was a plaid wearing, green eyed, very much _alive_ Dean.

Sam almost dropped his knife as he gasped out "D-dean?" He quickly squashed the urge to run up and hug his brother, but he still couldn't help smiling a little. Maybe God didn't hate them after all.

Dean walked towards Sam, a happy smile crossing his face. "Hi Sam." Dean said as he engulfing his huge little brother in a tight hug, apparently not caring that this is totally counts as a chick flick moment. Sam hugged back, happy that something was going right in this messed up world. A thought crossed his mind: just how had Dean come back? But that didn't matter as much as the fact that _Dean_ was right here and they were _hugging_ and everything would be okay now that big brother was back.

That is, until Dean knocked him unconscious.

The last thing Sam saw before succumbing to the blackness of oblivion was the reflection of his own face in Dean's eyes. Dean's eyes… that were completely and totally black.

Dean let his unconscious brother fall to the floor. Dean nodded to Crowely as he scratched out a part of the demon's trap, setting free the King of Hell, his new boss. The new Knight of Hell looked down at the prone form on the floor and an evil smile marred his human face. "Oh Sammy, we are going to have so much fun!"

**AN: I hope to see you all again next Saturday! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: I'm so sorry everyone! I posted this on my phone and had no idea that it would mess up the text. My deepest apologies. **

**Many thanks to WRATH77 for pointing out the error. :)**

**Also, I know that I haven't said this yet, but this is kind of a Destiel fic. It can be read as a ****_really_**** close friendship, which is every single relationship on the show anyway :) **

**Again, I'm so sorry for the mistake, and enjoy the chapter! **

The dimly lit warehouse where Castiel found Sam tied and gagged to a chair was about twenty miles from the Bunker. He was barely conscious; his eyes closed and his head was resting on his chest. Sam looked up when he heard the angel enter. The man looked groggily at Cas; his eyes unfocused.

About half an hour ago, Cas had heard Sam's faint prayers, dimed by his lack of grace. He had been in a remote corner of heaven, taking inventory of some of the more dangerous heavenly weapons, along with Hannah, his 'ever faithful' second in command. She was the only one who had been informed of his... _condition_. When he heard the Sam whispers in his head, Cas's face immediately paled. Hannah completely misinterpreted this reaction to mean that Cas was dying. Being the good little soldier, she grabbed the inventory sheet from his shaking hands and carefully placed it in her green overcoat's large inner pocket, hoping to save the valuable information, even if it cost her boss his life. Most of the angels had taken to wearing overcoats with large pockets now that Castiel had informed them of the usefulness of pockets and overcoats.

Even with Hannah's help, it had taken Cas an embarrassing amount of time to find his human friend. Once he had started listening, Cas realized the gravity of the situation. In his prayers, Sam had filled him in on Dean's 'condition.'

Back in the warehouse, Cas checked his human friend over, seeking out injuries. On the back of Sam's head, was a small lump, marking where he had been knocked unconscious. His eyes still would not focus, making Cas think that maybe his friend had received a concussion. Sam's right arm was the only one of his limbs that wasn't tied up. It hung limply over the side of the chair. As Cas gingered moved it onto the arm rest, he heard Sam let out a low groan and Cas watched as the hunter's eyes rolled back in his head. After making sure that Sam didn't have any other injuries that needed immediate treatment, Cas then ungagged the now completely unconscious man, and began working on the handcuffs that encased his human friend's hands.

Dean's lips curled back into a parody of his usual smile. His hell-black eyes glimmered in the dark. "What's the matter, Angel?" He asked the dark figure untying the unconscious man. "Is little Sammy all tied up? Boo hoo." With the mocking cry, Dean sauntered forward towards the falling angel, his arms swing at his sides, back and forth. Cas stepped back from Sam, hands raised in a defensive gesture, but still the demon advanced. "Dean." Cas began. "Dean, you really don't want to do this."

The black eyed man laughed. "Do what Angel? You know I'd never hurt you…" his voice dripping with the amount of sarcasm the demon was using.

"Dean. We can fix this." Dean cocked his head in a parody of Cas's look of confusion. "Fix what Angel? Fix me?" he gestured towards himself. "Oh you poor Angel, no wonder you fell." He closed the distance between himself and the falling angel; Cas's face frozen in fear.

His face now inches from Cas's, Dean whispered, "Don't be afraid Angel." before gently cupping Cas's face in his hand, Cas shivered and tried to turn away, but Dean moved his hand to behind the angel's head. His eyes flickered green.

"Cas, I'm not broken." He said softly, his voice sincere, before gently, pulling his falling angel in close… and kissing him. Surprising himself, Cas kissed back. The feeling of Dean's lips pressing against his own was… well, like Heaven. Then Dean pulled away, his eyes his normal green. He smiled at Cas, a normal Dean-smile. For some reason, words spoken long ago ran through Cas's mind as he stared into those green eyes.

_"__Dean Winchester is saved."_

That's when Dean's smile became the Knight's smile. Cas knew something was wrong when he saw the way Dean's lips curled back into a feral grin. The smile seemed to mar Dean's perfect face. Cas's eyes widened as he stared at the maniacal face, not notice as Dean slowly drew up his hand that held the First Blade. With one swift motion, he brutally stabbed the blade into Castiel's heart. The falling angel let out a gasp, the pain a mere afterthought in his mind… because Dean Winchester just stabbed him? He fell to the floor, not even trying to fix his own wound. His grace was so depleted that he couldn't even help Sam, much less help himself.

The sting of betrayal was made even worse when Cas looked into Dean's eyes. Dean's eyes, that weren't their normal emerald green. Dean's eyes, that were pitch black. Black as the oblivion Cas was falling into.

Somewhere in his head, Cas heard The last thing Cas heard before succumbing to the void of darkness was Dean's voice, dripping in sarcasm, whispering in his ear. "Sorry Angel, but Dean Winchester is lost."

The last thing Cas thought before succumbing to eternal oblivion was his he had failed Dean yet again. How Cas, not Dean, was the monster in the story. How the black in Dean's eyes was merely a reflection of Cas's life: a shadowy failure that the world was better off without.

And so passed Castiel, Fallen Angel of the Lord, in the arms of the one he loved most; in the arms of the one he had failed.

**AN: also, reviews are so appreciated, even if it's nothing more than "something's wrong with the format" or even "you misspelled..." You guys are amazing! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Happy Saturday everyone! Or weekend. Or weekday. Happy day everyone! :)**

**So here we are, on chapter 4. I'm very happy to say this is the longest chapter so far!**

**Disclaimer: nope. I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters nor do I own the song ****_Bad Company._**

**Reviews are ****always**** appreciated. Please? I really like to know what you all think of this story. I really enjoy writing this and I hope you all enjoy reading it! So... onward! **

_Earlier_

"No Dean. I am not carrying your Sasquatch of a brother all the way to warehouse. That's your job. You're the muscle and I'm the brains, so just pick him and up and let's move!" Crowley was practically yelling at Dean at this point. Seriously, why couldn't squirrel just understand? Dean finally gave in and threw his brother into the back seat, Sam's gangly arms hanging off the seat at an uncomfortable angle. Not that he noticed. Sam was still very much unconscious and would be for quite some time due to Crowley's planning. The King of Hell had managed to 'acquire' some chloroform that would keep even a moose like Sam asleep for a while.

Crowley sighed as he, Dean, and Sam's unconscious body all piled into the Impala. The King of Hell, a Knight of Hell, and an unconscious human are all sitting in an Impala: sounds the like beginning of a bad joke, Crowley thought to himself. He would have made a sarcastic comment to Dean, but his Knight was had turned on the radio and started singing along to "Highway to Hell" too loudly for a conversation to be held. The noise was deafening and it only encouraged Dean to push his once beloved car to drive faster than seemingly possible. A country cop, sitting at a lonely intersection eating a jelly donut nearly caught up to the demons as they traveled along the quite Kansas roads. Dean swerved onto a side road right before a T-junction, hoping to lose the no longer bored police officer. Crowley was glad he had put on his seat belt for once. Sam, on the other hand, was not so lucky. Crowley felt the large human's head smash into the back of his seat before crumpling to the floor. If he was going to have regained consciousness before the turn, there was no way he was going to now.

Down the road, they stopped at an abandoned warehouse that Crowley had 'obtained' some time ago; the King of Hell quite happily lent the rusting building to his Knight. The roof was falling apart in several places, and the once beautifully stained wood of the siding had faded. Dean slung the unconscious form of his brother over his shoulders and carried him through the faded red door: whether the red had been paint or blood didn't matter to the new demon, but he was a just a little bit curious. "Hey Crowley. Is that paint or blood? And do you mind if it gets redecorated a bit." Dean said with a wicked grin at his implication. Crowley sighed. This was going to be a long few weeks. "No Dean. We need your brother's blood on the inside of his body, not splattered across the outside. And no, you are not allowed to go flirt up some poor girl just so you can paint a stupid door! Did you skip demon manners when you went to Hell?" Dean rolled his black eyes. "Come on, it was just a stupid joke! Lighten up Crowley!"

"I am completely light, thank you very much!" Crowley yelled at his demon. Dean smirked and raised his eyebrows but wisely said nothing. He waltzed past the King, barely weighed down by Sam's size, pushing open a rusted door that squeaked loudly in protest. Crowley walked down the creaking hallway and opened what looked like a supply closet. Inside were a variety of… objects. Crowley walked past the rusty metal shelves, stopping and looking fondly at the occasional engraved knife, or a pair of handcuffs that had probably been new when Crowley sold his soul. He took his time meandering to the end of the small room, lost in his memories, before grabbing what would have looked like a simple wooden chair; if it weren't for the elaborate handcuffs built into it and the concerning red stains all over the once-brown surface.

Five long minutes later, Crowley had dragged the ominous chair into the main, empty, space in the center of the warehouse. He found that Dean had casually left Sam in a heap on the floor and was now singing along to the song _Bad Company_ that for some reason was playing from an ancient radio that Dean had gotten from who knows where.

**"****Our company, are always on the run.**

**Our destiny, ooooh it's the rising suuuuuuuuuuun. **

**I was born, a shotgun in my hands.**

**Behind the guuuuun, I'll make my final stand, yeah. **

**That's why they call me:**

**Bad company, I can't deny.**

**Bad, bad company, 'till the day I die."**

Crowley shot the radio, his displeasure evident. Dean looked over to his boss, his black eyes shining in amusement, "Or maybe until awhile after I die." Crowley rolled his eyes. "That's wonderful. Now would you mind lending me a hand?" Dean quickly got Sam strapped into the chair, while Crowley went back to the supply closet. He returned with a magazine and a dusty plaid rag that was soaked in….. something. Dean looked at him. "Chloroform? Is that really necessary? I can keep him out in between doses."

"I'm sure you could, squirrel, but I'd rather not have a concussed boy king on Hell's throne." Dean shrugged and let the rag fall onto the floor. "Whatever floats your boat."

Crowley tossed the magazine to Dean. "Here. Have fun with this while I make a supply run. I'd rather not waste all my good blood on your brother." Dean caught the magazine, a porno that was probably older than he was. "I shouldn't be more than a few hours. Don't give him the first dose until I'm back."

Dean waved him off, already engrossed in the magazine, "Go, go. Have fun, don't do drugs, yada yada." And with that lovely send off, Crowley left his new Knight, and the boy who was to become the new King of Hell.

The wait for Crowley to get back was really boring. Dean finished his magazine less than ten minutes after the King of Hell left. Dean twiddled his thumbs for a few minutes, before deciding that twiddling was a weird word, worthy of Sam and that he was really bored. Luckily for him, Sam had finally begun to rise back to consciousness.

After pacing the room exactly seventeen times, trying _really hard_ to not kill anything even though Crowley had forgotten to confiscate the First Blade this time, Dean heard a small groan. He immediately rushed over to his gigantic, semi-consious brother as he hesitantly opened his eyes.

"Hey? You good?" Dean asked. Sam's eyes flickered open. He squinted, his eyes not focusing. _Probably has a concussion._ Dean diagnosed. _Cool.__Didn't think I hit him that hard.__Being a demon is awesome!_Sam looked at him and mumbled, "Dean? 's that you?" Dean smiled kindly, thinking _What if I played a game?__Mind games are always fun, not enough blood, but it's better than just waiting._

"Yeah Sammy, it's me. You okay?" Sam blinked a couple of times, thinking hard. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. What the hell happened? And why…" he gasped in pain, and shut his eyes tight. Sam had tried to move his left arm, only to find it broken and tied to a chair. "W-whaa… what the hell, Dean!?"

Dean looked down at Sam. "Oh Sammy. Is your memory not quite coming back?" he asked mockingly. Sam would have eyed Dean warily, if his head didn't hurt _so freaking much_. "No Dean. I don't remember what happened. Will you please _just tell me!_" Sam shouted through gritted teeth. Dean was getting bored. Plan B.

"Hey Sam?" he said softly, "can you open up your eyes for a second? I want you to see something." Sam opened his eyes carefully…. And then wished he hadn't.

Standing in front of him was Dean…. or at least he had_thought_ it was Dean. But no. This couldn't be Dean. He remembered now. Dean had died when Metatron… when Metatron _stabbed him _and he was _too slow to stop it._ So this Dean-shaped thing isn't, wasn't and will never be his brother. Because Dean's eyes were green, not pitch black.

"Hi there Sammy." Sam shut his eyes, refusing to accept what his eyes told him. _That's not Dean!_his mind kept shouting. _Ah, but it is._Another part said quietly: a part that sounded suspiciously like a certain fallen archangel.

"Come on Sammy! What? No, 'you can't be Dean' or 'get out of Dean' or something equally dramatic?"

Sam drew a deep breath. He had no idea what was going on, but he refused to give into the Dean-shaped thing's wishes. He sent out a short prayer to Cas, hoping maybe the angel could help, if he was even still alive. Sam felt a pang of regret. He really didn't know if his friend was still alive.

The Dean thing sighed. "Fiiiiiine. This is boring. 'Nighty night Sam." He grabbed a fistful of Sam's hair, forcing the taller man's head to stay still. Then, he roughly shoved the plaid, drugged up rag into Sam's mouth. Dean let Sam's head fall onto his chest, oblivious to the world. Dean sighed. Boring.

He decided to run outside for a bit; apparently demons had to use the little boys' room too. Once he was gone, Sam picked up his head and prayed as hard as he could, the drug not acting quite as fast as Dean had assumed.

Dean came back in about half an hour later, having finally gotten bored of the natural wildlife. That's when he saw Cas.


End file.
